Lap Dance
by Tozz
Summary: "I cannot believe I talked you into going to a strip club." Silly fluff, in which Ned goes to a strip club. Oneshot.


So basically this whole thing spawned from me thinking what would happen if Ned went to a strip club. Meant to be silly fluff, which is what I do best :x Also, I haven't seen the show in over a year, so I'm sorry if there's anything inaccurate. Uhhh yeah. First attempt at Pushing Daises fic. Enjoy?

x x x

"I cannot believe I talked you into going to a strip club."

"If you didn't think I was going to go, why did you even try?"

"I figured it would cheer you up-it'd do you some good to see other women besides Dead Girl. Also, for fun. Just to see if you'd do it."

"Well, I'm glad I could serve as entertainment for you in my misery," Ned muttered glumly, but Emerson had already drifted away, giving the pie maker a dismissive over-the-shoulder wave. Ned stayed rooted to the spot, his arms tucked close to his sides.

Truthfully, he couldn't believe Emerson had talked him into going to a strip club either. He and Chuck had gotten into a...disagreement that morning. Under the pulsating lights and loud music punctuated by the raucous laughter and hollers of the men around him, he had trouble remembering just what was it they'd argued about. Nevertheless, he'd spent the whole day moping about it while he was supposed to be investigating with Emerson, which frustrated the detective to no end. He recalled how Emerson had persuaded him, making it sound like a strip club was the perfect place to go to forget his troubles. And Ned, brokenhearted and crestfallen and with his listening and comprehension skills severely impacted by the fact that he _could not stop thinking about Chuck_, went along with the plan.

_What does one do in a place like this?_ he wondered to himself, finally taking the time to take in his surroundings. This was definitely _not_ the sort of establishment he frequented. Everything was covered in a thick, rank, cigarette smoke haze, and the bright colored lights cast a glare in his eyes, making it difficult to see. But then he spotted the dancing silhouettes-oh God, what was she wearing? Oh God, nothing at all!

He quickly turned his back on the spectacle and shut his eyes, hoping to erase it from memory. All that lace, all that skin...

When he opened his eyes again, a woman stood before him. A very scantily clad woman. He had bite down on his lip to muffle his yelp of surprise. He wasn't sure where to look, so he focused on a point in the middle of her forehead.

"Hello there," she said breathily, fingering his collar. Ned felt the heat rise up his neck at the invasion of his space. He reached up and gently took her hand, trying to extract it from his person.

"Um, if you could not do that, I would very much appreciate-"

But it was like she wasn't even listening. Instead, she pushed him down on the nearest couch and somehow managed to start straddling his lap, all in the blink of an eye.

"Is this seat taken?" Her voice was warm and low in his ear.

Ned looked about, panicked. How had he gotten himself into this? He couldn't remember the last time someone had been so close, so suffocating. He craned his neck, searching for Emerson, the only person who could save him at this point. But when he finally located the detective, he saw he was laughing.

He was behind this. This was all his idea. Perfect.

The woman had already worked her way through two of his shirt buttons, and now was doing some very unwholesome things with her hips, still sitting spread-eagled in his lap.

"Uh-uh-uh-" Ned stammered, finding that his throat seized up and utterly useless for producing comprehensible sounds.

"Relax," she cooed, and that's when he went limp. Not because he was relaxed, but because he was defeated.

As the lap dancer danced upon his lap, he thought about Chuck. Specifically, how Chuck would never do what this woman was doing, or wear what this woman was wearing. At least, not with him. Too much skin, too much risk. It was actually kind of a shame, if he really thought about it... He let his mind wander down that road for a minute or two, until he was brought back to reality by the dancer digging her nails into his shoulder, apparently having lost all abandon in her passion.

He grabbed both of her arms, halting her gyrations.

"Please, stop," he said, wishing he sounded more commanding instead of pleading.

She froze, her lips parted slightly, staring at him with slightly glassy eyes.

"Look, I'm sure you're a perfectly nice lady, and you're very pretty, and it's not exactly that you've done anything wrong, but the thing is..." He trailed off, not even sure where he was going with this. "There's this girl, and I love her, and she's the only one I want giving me a lap dance."

The woman stared at him a moment longer, and then swung one leg off him and then the other. She walked away without saying a word, over to Emerson, who handed her a wad of cash.

"What the hell was that about?" Emerson asked when he reached the pie maker, who was sitting slumped in the red overstuffed sofa. "I paid good money for that, you know. Did I see you _lecturing_ her?"

"I want to go home," Ned said, ignoring Emerson's question. He stood stiffly, buttoned up his shirt, and then walked out of the strip club. Emerson sighed, rolled his eyes, and followed.

x x x

It was three in the morning. How was it already three in the morning? Though they did have to drive an hour both ways to find the strip club Emerson was looking for.

He crept into the bedroom he and Chuck shared, hoping that he wouldn't disturb her-surely she must already be asleep. But when he got to the doorway, he was surprised to see her sitting up in bed, fully dressed, her bedside lamp switched on.

"Where have you been?" she cried, leaping to her feet and briefly wrapping her arms around herself-a hug that she couldn't give directly to him. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"

"Three in the morning," he said, a distracted smile working its way across his face. He knew he shouldn't be smiling when she was clearly upset, but Chuck's presence tended to have that effect on him.

"Where have you been?" she asked him again, snapping him out of his daze. That was a question he wasn't sure he wanted to answer.

He crossed the room, sitting down on his bed with his hands folded in his lap. "Um," he began, his voice already twitching with nervousness, "About that. You see, it was Emerson's idea..."

"What was Emerson's idea?"

"The strip club."

"The _strip club_?"

"Yes."

"You went to a strip club?"

"Yes."

"You're joking."

"Nope." He pressed his lips together, waiting for the anger, the disappointment, the frown to wrinkle her lovely mouth.

Instead she started laughing.

"Oh my God, Ned, I can't believe you went to a strip club. What were you thinking?"

"It was Emerson's idea," he insisted, embarrassed by her laughter. It really had been a ridiculous thing to do.

Her giggling finally subsided and she took a deep breath. "And what did you do at this strip club?"

He swallowed. "I got a lap dance."

"A lap dance?" The corner of her mouth twitched, threatening to break out into mirth again.

"Yes. A woman danced on my lap."

"Did you like it?" Her smile spread wider, but there was more than mischief in it. It seemed almost...cautious?

"No," he answered honestly.

"Why not?"

"Because...I couldn't stop thinking about you."

Her face went slack at that, truly taken by surprise by his words. She stayed silent.

"I'm sorry about our fight earlier." He wished he could remember the details to make his apology sound more sincere, but she didn't seem to mind.

"It's okay," she said. "I'm sorry too."

She stood up then and walked over to Ned, standing in front of him as close as she could, her legs just barely skimming the fabric of his pants.

It was times like this that he wanted to touch her. Not that there was ever a time he didn't want to touch her. He thought of the woman in the strip club, the closeness, the intimacy of it. The friction. The thought that he'd never have that with Chuck made him ache.

"Do you want me to give you a lap dance?" she asked, clearly trying to keep a straight face, but her smile curled her words.

He smiled back, a close-mouthed grin, and tilted his head to the side. "Well, I don't know exactly how we would achieve that..."

"Hmm. I'm thinking a full body leotard for me. And gloves."

"We'd have to be very careful."

Chuck sat down on one of his legs, placing her hands on his shoulders gingerly, taking care not to come into contact with any part of his skin.

She ran a finger down the buttons on his shirt, and just the one tiny action made him breathless. Then she asked him a question that made him laugh, that made him want to run for the nearest box of Saran wrap and just kiss her, because he loved that she knew without knowing she knew.

Her voice was tinged with both irony and shyness, and she looked up at him through her lashes. "Is this seat taken?"

x x x


End file.
